


The Game of Life - Anarchy Edition (Paladin 'Verse)

by elrhiarhodan



Series: Paladin 'Verse [29]
Category: White Collar
Genre: Domesticity, Family, Multi, OT3, Perversion of Board Games, Snark
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-25
Updated: 2017-01-25
Packaged: 2018-09-19 21:27:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,971
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9461084
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elrhiarhodan/pseuds/elrhiarhodan
Summary: Peter and his dad talk every Sunday, mostly about nothing, but sometimes things get a little out of hand.  After all, this is Michael Burke, who we first met inThanksgiving at the Burkes, his alpaca-raising, pot-smoking father.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the “Parents” square on my Love Bingo card.

At precisely eight o’clock, Sunday evening, the phone didn’t ring. Of course not, because Peter was waiting for a call scheduled for eight o’clock that never seemed to happen at that time. Sometimes the call came at 7:42, sometimes at 8:36. Or sometimes, on Monday, a little after nine.

Not that it really mattered when the call came. Peter wasn’t that regimented that these little deviations bothered him. Except that … well, when he had plans for a Sunday night that didn’t include a circular and slightly crazy conversation with his parents, having them call at eight was a lot more preferable than having them call an hour later, when he might be engaged in pursuits that were a little difficult to interrupt.

Like getting naked with his wife and their lover.

But at least tonight, getting naked wasn’t going to happen for hours, yet. Moz was here. As much as Peter liked the little guy, even the idea of the mildest displays of affection between him and Neal and Elizabeth while Moz was in the room (hell, in the same borough) gave him hives.

He was relaxing with the Sunday Times crossword while the other three were engaged in what could best be described as “The Game of Life, Anarchy Edition.” Peter tried not to listen as Elizabeth cheerfully cashed in an insurance policy on her “husband,” claiming double indemnity because he’d been decapitated by the surfboard that fell off of Mozzie’s “car”. The spinner clicked and clacked, the players’ voices rose or fell in triumph, and Peter steadily worked his way through the puzzle. He’d been doing it for so many years, it wasn’t really all that much of a challenge, but he had his own rituals. He did as many of the across clues as he could first (usually about seventy-five percent), then he filled in with the down clues. When the crossword was done, he’d go onto the more challenging puzzles – this week’s edition featured an acrostic and a nine-by-nine Ken-Ken.

At 8:47, just as Peter was filling in 101-across, feet first, six letters (breach), the phone rang. It was his father.

_“Sorry I’m late, Pumpkinhead.”_

After nearly fifty years on this earth, Peter still wished his father would stop calling him that. “No problem, Dad. How are you? How’s Mom?”

_“She’s fine, I’m fine.”_

They quickly made their way through their usual conversation: the weather, the prospect for Yankees, the likelihood of the Giants making it through the next round of playoffs. Peter asked about Lola, Blondie, Bruno and the rest of the herd; his father inquired into the health and well-being of Ellibits and Cumulonimbus. He spent a few minutes talking with his mom, which was pretty much a repeat of his conversation with his father. But when she handed the phone back to his dad, Peter could hear her telling him – _“Ask him. Don’t forget to ask him.”_

“Ask me what?”

His father sighed. _“I need a favor, son.”_

When his dad called him “son”, Peter knew there was a problem. But these were his parents and he knew he’d kick himself later, but he said, “Anything.”

_“Your mom and I – ”_ His father trailed off.

“Yes?”

_“Well – ”_

Peter could just about hear his father rub at the back of his neck. “Dad, whatever you need, just ask, okay?”

_“We’re going to Vegas next month.”_

“That sounds nice, Dad.” Peter wondered if his father was going to ask him for money. He never had before, but with his father, he had learned not to be surprised at anything. Rather than let his dad be embarrassed, Peter made the offer first. “Do you need cash? I can have some money transferred to you by the end of the day tomorrow.”

_“Oh, no – no. Not at all. Your mom and I have plenty of money – more than we know what to do with these days. Between the profits from the herd and my own little cash crop –”_

“Dad!” Peter didn’t want to know that. It was bad enough knowing that his seventy-three year old parent regularly smoked pot, but that he grew and sold it – a felony in New York State – was beyond his filial duty.

_“Sorry, Pumpkinhead. Anyways, about that favor.”_

“Yeah – what about it?”

_“Got a little problem. The trip we booked, it was a special deal.”_

“And?” Peter felt like he wanted to pull out his hair.

_“It’s the herd, you see.”_

He didn’t.

Michael continued. _“I’ve got people to take care of everything during the day, but my usual nighttime babysitter isn’t going to be around and there’s no one else I can ask to stay. We can’t cancel without losing the cost of the trip. But I can’t leave the farm alone overnight, and I was wondering …”_

Peter took a deep breath and prayed for a little patience. “You want me to come up and watch the herd for you?”

_“Would you?”_

His folks might drive him crazy, but he loved them. And the reality was that they asked very little of him. “When?” He fished out his cell phone to check his calendar.

_“The second week in February. I know asking you and Ellibits to come and stay during Valentine’s Day is a bit much, but if there was anyone else I wouldn’t ask and it’s not like your sister would come in from California.”_

Peter looked at his schedule and grimaced. “Dad – I can’t. I have to be in court all that week. I’m sorry. If you have to cancel your trip, I’ll cover what you lose.”

_“Son, that’s not necessary. I didn’t think you’d be able to – but your mother insisted that I ask.”_ Peter could hear the disappointment in his father’s voice.

“Maybe I can talk to the U.S. Attorney – it’s just grand jury testimony, it can be postponed.” Peter didn’t hold out much hope – this would be the fourth time there was a scheduling change and he didn’t really want to explain that he couldn’t be there because he had to watch over his parents’ herd of alpacas.

_“No, Peter – it’s okay. We’ll find someone.”_

Damn, his father called him Peter. No, it definitely wasn’t okay.

Peter looked up – the sudden absence of background noise caught his attention. The trio at the dining room table had stopped playing and was looking at him. Peter gave them a smile, hoping that they’d go back to the game. No such luck.

“What’s the matter, hon?” El came over and sat down on the arm of the couch. “Everything okay with Mom and Dad?”

Neal joined her. He’d bonded with his dad over the alpacas and some really fine weed over Thanksgiving, and kept wondering when they could go back. And of course, Moz wasn’t going to be left out.

The three of them were staring at him, waiting for an explanation. They didn’t seem to care that he was in the middle of the conversation.

_“Peter?”_

“Hold on, Dad.” He put his hand over the phone and glared at all of them. “My folks want to go out of town next month – they asked me if I could come up and watch the place while they’re in Vegas. Unless I can get the Pederson Grand Jury rescheduled, I can’t get away.”

Neal opened his mouth and Peter could see the offer hanging there like a speech balloon. “Neal – I think Grand Gorge is a just little too far outside your radius.” Neal’s shoulders sagged. “Besides, do you really want to babysit thirty some-odd alpacas?”

Before Neal could say anything, Moz jumped into the conversation. “Alpacas? Did you say alpacas? Small ungulates, originally indigenous to the Andes? Now known for the extremely fine quality of their fleece, their outrageously long eyelashes and their enjoyment of human companionship?”

Peter gave Moz an odd look, but he shouldn’t have been surprised. If Neal was an expert on almost everything, Moz was practically a human version of Wikipedia. “Yes, those alpacas – my parents have a small herd.”

“A very unsuitlike avocation, I must say.”

_Of course he must._

_“Pumpkinhead?”_ His father was probably wondering what was going on.

“Dad – just hold on a moment more.” Peter could feel the heartburn starting.

“Hon…” Elizabeth looked like she was about to offer to go up there herself.

“No, don’t. I’ll work something out.” Peter was about to tell his father not to cancel his trip – even if he had to pay Jones or Diana for their burned vacation time, he’d find someone to watch the farm.

“I could go.” Mozzie gave him a challenging look.

“No.” His refusal was visceral, profound and absolute.

And of course Moz challenged him. “Why not?”

“Because…” Peter looked at Neal, hoping for help. Neal stepped back, hands up.

Elizabeth was no assistance either. In fact, she was a traitor to his cause. “I think Moz would be perfect – and he and your folks would get along like a house on fire.”

_Yes, that’s exactly what I’m afraid of._

He turned away from the trio. “Dad – ” He was about to tell him he’d call back in a few, but Neal plucked the phone out of his hand.

“Michael, it’s me - Neal.” A beat, a pause. “Yeah, Cumulonimbus. Look, Peter told us that you and Margaret need someone to stay while you’re out of town. You’re going to Vegas? Great - do you play poker? Yeah - I prefer Texas Hold ‘Em myself, but Five Card Stud is good too. Anyways …”

Peter watched and listened, with no small amount of horror, as Neal paced back and forth, chatting with his father about the glories of Las Vegas.

“No, it would be terrible if you had to cancel your trip. I’d love to come and stay, but you know my situation and it would probably not do Peter’s career any good to explain to the Marshals that his CI on work-release needed to go four hundred fifty miles out of his radius, wholly unsupervised, to watch his parents’ farm. But listen - I have a friend ...”

Peter was definitely having a serious case of heartburn. Maybe a bleeding ulcer.

“He’s a good friend to Peter too. In fact, he came over for dinner tonight and we’ve been hanging out. What were we doing? Umm…” Neal looked at him and Peter shook his head - he was getting no help from this quarter. “We were playing board games – and Elizabeth was beating the pants off of us. No – Peter wasn’t playing. We sort of take some liberties with the rules and well - yeah, you know your son.”

The conversation continued in its strange and meandering fashion. “My friend, he loves alpacas and when he heard that you needed a hand… His name? Mozzie. Yes – it’s a nickname. His real name?”

Peter couldn’t remember when he’d taken so much pleasure out of Neal’s exasperation.

“Dante Havisham. You see why he uses Mozzie? Of course you can talk to him.”

Peter had a few seconds to interfere. He actually thought about tackling Neal to get the phone back, but El’s steely gaze stopped him in his tracks. Neal handed the phone to Mozzie, who looked way too gleeful.

“Hello, Paternity Suit...”

Unlike Neal’s conversation with his father, Moz’s was mostly one-syllable replies. And occasionally outrageous lies. “Yes, I have a degree in Animal Husbandry, if that matters. Cornell, class of ‘84…”

Moz turned and looked at Peter, an unholy expression on his face. “Yes, I’ll be delighted to give you back to _Pumpkinhead_.”

Peter didn’t take his eyes off Moz as he took the phone from him. He’d have his revenge, if it was the last thing he did. “Yes, Dad. Neal’s friend can be trusted. I’ve run his fingerprints and his DNA. I know everything there is to know about him. And then some…”

__

Fin


End file.
